


Sprint Finish

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: 2.07, AU, F/M, Fluff, gymfic, s2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 03:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: The gym is empty, it's cold and rainy outside and he guesses all the sensible people did opt for the extra hour in bed, but screw it, he's here now so he steps fully inside with a reluctant sigh.





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time he almost ran a marathon. Her idea, of course, and proof that she always could talk him into pretty much anything, no matter how outrageous. Her fault too that he didn't make it much beyond the starting line, that neither of them did. For an elegant, confident woman she has one hell of a clumsy streak. For a woman who balances on four inch heels almost every day of her life, the irony of her spraining an ankle while wearing sneakers isn't lost on him. Still, it ended with them spending a Sunday working their way through the hotel's room service menu, her ankle cushioned by a thousand pillows and a disappointed pout on her lips that he made it his mission to chase away. Since then he's dabbled with working out, the occasional period of enthusiasm around birthdays, the reminder of his advancing age triggering bouts of commitment to getting healthier, and here he is again, hovering outside the gym doors wondering why he didn't just commit to another fucking hour in bed.

The gym is empty, it's cold and rainy outside and he guesses all the sensible people _did_ opt for the extra hour in bed, but screw it, he's here now so he steps fully inside with a reluctant sigh. And that's when he realises it's not empty and his heart skitters in his chest when he sees who the sole occupant is. She's on the treadmill and it looks like she's been running for a while, although from where he's standing (and yeah, he's aware he's cowering slightly pathetically just inside the door), it looks less like running and more like sprinting for her life. Her hair is in a ponytail, the few escaped tendrils plastered to her face, her cheeks are pink and her t-shirt damp. He contemplates moving, climbing onto some piece of equipment, doing something, _anything_ other than standing here watching her, but somehow he can't seem to manage it.

When she starts to slow down, pushing her hair out of her face and reaching for a towel draped over the machine, he forces himself to move, slowly, hopefully casually but probably not, over in her direction. He knows the instant she spots him because a frown crosses her face before she sighs and stares at him until she eventually slows to a walk.

"You appear to have stepped onto the wrong floor, Will," she says, picking up her water bottle and taking a huge gulp. "This is the gym. It's early, some confusion is understandable."

"It's..." He glances at his watch and back up at her. "Six forty-two."

"Like I said, it's early." She shrugs and steps off the treadmill, running her towel across her face as she looks at him, clearly as curious as he is about what the fuck he's doing there. "Did you come here to work out or just to stand there watching me?"

"How the hell would I have known you were going to be here? It's essentially the crack of fucking dawn, I didn't think anyone would be here." He shrugs, wondering again just why he _is_ here. "Most people are asleep at this hour."

She steps towards him and he stops, because in between noticing how hard she was pounding the treadmill and dealing with her sarcasm he had completely failed to notice her running shorts. Her short, perfectly fitting running shorts. He wonders if the day will ever come when her legs won't render him speechless, and if so, he knows today sure as hell isn't that day.

"You're not," she says, nonchalantly, knowing damn well he can't exactly argue with that.

"Neither are you." He's aware he sounds faintly like a petulant child so he folds his arms in front of him to complete the effect.

"I don't sleep." Picking up her bottle, she steps closer to him and shrugs again.

"Since when?" She's close enough that he can smell her, the faint odour of sweat mixed with whatever lotion she has on wafting into his nostrils and hitting him with an assault of memories that he forces to the back of his mind.

"Since..." Her eyes are bright, the shadows under them clear under the harsh gym lighting. She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter, just...I don't sleep all that well anymore."

"You don't sleep, you're barely eating and you're here way before seven in the morning..." He knows it's Genoa, her tendency to take the blame for everything coming to the fore more than ever these past weeks. "You're lucky you're beautiful or it might really be taking its toll."

"Oh, fuck you." She rolls her eyes and moves past him, hurling her towel onto the handlebars of a stationary bike before climbing on.

She starts to pedal like a woman who hasn’t just been running at full speed for the last forty minutes, but then stops abruptly almost as soon as she starts, gripping the handlebars so hard her fingers are white.

"What?" He hears the challenge in his tone and he wonders why he’s antagonising her when she’s already making it clear just how much his presence is annoying her.

"Just wondering if you actually have any plans to exercise this morning?" she asks, shooting him a glare so sharp it almost hurts. "Because if not, I was perfectly fine working out with the place to myself until a few minutes ago, just like I am the three mornings a week I’m here and you don’t show up."

"Fine." He throws his own towel onto the bike next to hers, climbs on and starts to pedal, all without making eye contact, even though he feels her gaze intermittently burning into the side of his head.

He starts slowly, he's not dumb enough to think he's at peak fitness and he knows he has old injuries that he doubts will stand up too well to aggressive cycling, so he's unsurprised when she picks up speed and rapidly outpaces him, particularly impressive given how hard she was pounding the treadmill just minutes earlier. He picks up his own pace, stealing a glance at her as she pushes back a strand of hair that has escaped the confines of its ponytail. Her face is flushed, he can hear in her breathing how hard she's pushing herself, and there's a sheen of sweat across her face and down her neck. He's annoyed with himself for not only being unable to drag his eyes away, but for finding his gaze dropping to her legs; the long, toned legs that have always been his undoing, the arousal running suddenly through him proving that hasn't changed.

When he does manage to pull his attention from her calf muscles, he finds her eyes fixed on him and he silently kicks himself, wondering just how long she's been aware of him staring at her. Saying nothing, he pushes himself to go faster, feeling the sweat breaking out across his own forehead and his thighs starting to burn. There's raw challenge in her eyes and he can see her competitive streak fixed firmly behind her gaze, her constant need to win, to prove herself blatantly clear.

"Sprint finish," she says, pausing to take a breath, her pace not slowly for even a second. "Thirty seconds. What do you say?"

"Deal." He agrees without question even though his knee is starting to ache, to throb even, and the sensible part of his brain tells him he's going to suffer for this little game.

He speeds up, every muscle screaming at him to stop, his brain having absolutely no intention of listening to them. Neither of them seems to be keeping count of the thirty seconds, but it doesn't seem to matter because all he can hear is the combination of her breathing and his, and for however long they are pedalling he's not thinking of the pain, he's lost in the smell of her, the sound of her, and as the sweat rolls slowly down her neck, the thought that he'd love nothing more than to climb off this fucking bike and lick her skin dry.

"Done, and done." She bangs a hand triumphantly on the screen on the front of her bike and turns to him, a smug look on her face. "God, that felt good."

He's not quite sure he feels the same way, and he's certain his knee is going to make him pay for putting it through what he just did, all in the name of competition, but what he is sure about is that he's not imagining the oddly erotic charge hanging in the air between them as they each climb down off their bikes. She pulls her sweat soaked t-shirt over her head and reaches for her towel, draping it around her neck and biting her lip as she stretches, standing almost painfully close to him, now clad in just her running shorts and a tight purple tank top. He steps gingerly away from the bike, aiming for casual but failing entirely when the pain that shoots through his knee and up his thigh becomes impossible to mask and he winces.

"You okay?" She frowns, her forehead knotting in worry as she steps up to him.

"Yeah." His answer is automatic, reneged instantly when he sees the look of pure disbelief in her eyes. "Well, let's just say I was more enthusiastic about your little challenge than my knee was."

"Jesus, Will, when was the last time you pushed it like that?" She grabs his elbow and steers him towards one of the benches against the wall, watching as he lowers himself slowly down onto it.

"I don't know, a while, I guess..." He stretches his leg out, testing the water, trying to figure out if straightening it is worse than not, before deciding it's not and leaving it outstretched in front of him.

"And you launch back in with a sprint against someone much younger and much fitter than you?" She dares to smirk and he can't help shake his head because, frankly, she's right. "Here, let me..."

Her words drift off and she reaches for his leg, leaning down in front of him, her hair falling into her face, and before he thinks about what he's doing he feels his fingers slide across her cheek to tuck it back behind her ear, only her sharp intake of breath reminding him of where, of _who_ they are. There's a momentary pause before her hand moves to his thigh, squeezing gently, sliding lower, massaging the painful knot above his knee, her fingers strong yet gentle. He remembers her doing this when they were training for the marathon, after each run she would ease the knots gently out before pulling him into the shower with her, insisting that the hot water would help.

"Mac..." He stops, partly because he wasn't sure what he intended to say, partly because she just hit a spot so tender he can't get the words out.

"Sorry," she says, looking up at him, her face still pink, her eyes bright. "Is it painful? You should take something before it seizes up entirely, maybe see if you can make an appointment to have someone look at it. Someone other than me, I mean."

"Oh, I don't know. You're doing a pretty good job so far," he says, sighing softly. "You always did."

"Alright, well, you should really take a painkiller, take the edge of the pain a little." She pulls away abruptly and there's a wariness in her tone that sends a stab of guilt running through him. "I really should get moving, shower, get down to the office, I-"

"Look, I..." He stops and somehow, in the confusion of her trying to step away and him trying to reach for her, his hand ends up on her thigh, his thumb rubbing almost involuntarily over the muscle before he forces his hand back.

"Will..." she says, shaking her head, fondness in her tone but a look of embarrassment in her eyes as she starts to turn away, replaced with curiosity when she turns back. "What made you come here this morning?"

"Couldn't sleep, like I said. Thought I may as well do something more productive than sit out on my balcony brooding." He shrugs, thinking of how furious she seemed when he first showed up, wondering if he's about to trigger it all over again. "It's pretty hard to sleep with everything that's going on, but you know, the retraction is done now, Charlie's on the verge of getting Leona on side, it's not-"

"I swear to God, if you're about to say it's not my fault _again_ , you can save your breath." She picks at her fingernail, refuses to meet his gaze. "I hired an incompetent producer, I failed to notice that not only was he incompetent but he was doctoring our footage, and I let the show air. I let you go on the air with a story that was fabricated and for an EP to do that is fucking unforgivable, so no, I don't sleep much, I barely sleep at all, I come here at the crack of dawn because it feels like a slightly better option than starting to drink as soon as I get out of bed. And hey, the gym is a nice perk of the job so I may as well use it while I still _have_ a job-"

"You were the one who caught it!" He stands up, slightly too quickly but he ignores the twinge in his knee in favour of trying yet again to make her see that this whole mess is not her fault. "If you hadn't, God knows where we'd be, or if we'd have unravelled this fucking disaster at all. Cut yourself a damn break."

"Did you knows ours was only the third retraction in ACN's history?" she asks, her eyes boring into his, her tone sharp. "Three times. This network has only ever had to retract a story twice before Genoa. How do you think it feels to be the producer who made it three?"

"I'd guess it feels about as bad as it feels to be the anchor who had to front it, but shit happens," he says, stepping closer as he sees the gym door open behind her, lowering his voice. "The important thing is we caught it, _you_ caught it, and we did the right thing, we retracted it, we went back on the air and we were honest, we-"

"But if I'd just caught it earlier." Her shoulders slump in defeat and she looks down, a sudden weariness in her voice. "If I'd just-"

"Alright, enough." He plants his hands firmly on her shoulders and waits until she looks up at him. "You have _got_ to stop this, Mackenzie. I mean, shit, it's no fucking wonder you're not sleeping when you've apparently decided to single-handedly take the weight of this whole damn thing on you. Do you not think that I look back on it all and wonder why the hell I didn't spot that something was off? That I don't go over and over every conversation I had with Dantana, fucking kicking myself for not seeing something that maybe I should have? There isn't a thing we could have done, he wasn't some stringer we found on the street, he was one of our own, he was an ACN producer, we were right to trust him. _He_ let _us_ down, not the other way around. I don't get why you can't see that."

"I do," she says, and he hears a faint note of something more positive in her tone, feels her shoulders lift slightly under his hold. "It's just...it's...I don't know, I guess every new lead I get now, I question, and I question myself, my source, I wonder if it's about to happen all over again, and I...I hate that."

"You have the best, the sharpest instincts of any journalist I've ever met, Mac, do _not_ let the actions of one rogue, arrogant asshole make you doubt that," he says, angry at Dantana all over again, running his thumbs across her shoulders, whether to comfort her or himself he isn't quite sure. "Repeat after me, 'I'm still the best EP in the business, no fucking doubt.'"

"Will, come on." She rolls her eyes, a flicker of a spark back in them.

"Repeat it." He's firm, he needs to hear it from her, even if she's in a place right now where she's doesn't one hundred percent believe it.

"I'm going to humour you, but please know it's because it's seven am, I've had three hours sleep at best, I need some breakfast, and you're really annoying me right now," she says, sighing heavily and giving one more eye roll. "I'm the best EP in the business. There, happy?"

"Almost," he says, moving his hands from her shoulders, swiping a thumb gently across her skin as he does. "One more thing."

"You know at some point today we have to go to work, right?" There's a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips and he feels himself starting to grin in return. "We can't spend all day in the Will McAvoy motivational corner. Not least because it's the weirdest concept ever."

"Whatever," he says, shrugging. "I do know we have to go to work, but first we're going for breakfast. Like, actual food, not a bucket of coffee flavoured milk and some shitty piece of pastry. I'm talking bacon, eggs, the good stuff."

"Are you offering to take me out for a McMuffin?" She quirks an eyebrow and pushes her hair back behind her ear again.

"Hell, I might even stretch to hash browns too." He watches as her smirk becomes a smile, her eyes brighten, and something in her body language changes, lifts slightly and he dares to believe that she'll be okay, that maybe his words have made at least some difference. "Go shower, I'll meet you out at the elevators."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This morning is different. This time she wasn't completely blindsided when he walked into the gym, not quite as early as two mornings ago, but still a pretty impressive (and not entirely grumpy) show not far before seven._

This morning is different. This time she wasn't completely blindsided when he walked into the gym, not quite as early as two mornings ago, but still a pretty impressive (and not entirely grumpy) show not far before seven. After they had breakfast on Wednesday things feel easier somehow, she doesn't feel that she's knotted quite so tightly, and she almost believes he's at the gym because he wants to work out and not because he's checking up on her. If he shows up a couple more times she'll definitely start to believe it. She sees him in the mirror behind her, gives him a half smile and turns her attention back to the dumbbells in her hands.

She thinks about how hard he pushed himself when she challenged him to the sprint finish, to the point where he was clearly in pain but not willing to admit it. No surprise, of course, he's not as competitive as she is (few people are, she's aware of that), but he never could resist any gauntlet she threw down, it's the reason they ended up on a marathon start line six years ago. He had made it into the office two days ago with something of a faint hobble, had taken a painkiller over breakfast at her urging, but she doesn't know if he got as far as having the knee looked at. Glancing in the mirror again, she sees he's started on the elliptical, a gentler option on his knee than the bike would be, so whether he's made an appointment or not at least he hasn't suddenly decided he's invincible.

He's focusing on the TV screen on the wall ahead of him so she takes the opportunity to watch him much more openly than she usually would, taking in his strong forearms, his broad shoulders, the faint frown of concentration on his face. She counts three more reps and vows to look away on the fifth, but then he starts to speed up and she finds herself fixated on the determination on his face and how his hands grip the handles just a little tighter. If she were closer, she knows she'd see tiny beads of sweat dotted across his brow, slowly making their way down his nose, and she knows too just how tempted she'd be to kiss him, to remind herself of his salty tang. She thinks about their contest on the bikes and, not for the first time in the last couple of days, she wonders if she was imagining what she felt between them. A charge, an undeniable pull that she felt deep down in her stomach, a current that rippled through her as she watched his eyes sweep down her body, a tremor that ran through her when his hand gripped her thigh. Over breakfast his hand brushed against hers as he reached for his coffee, his eyes resting on hers just a beat longer than usual. Did she imagine that too?

Putting down the dumbbells, she stretches her arms above her head and then behind her back, feeling the muscles respond to the workout she's putting them through and deciding she'll finish up on the elliptical. Sauntering over towards him, she _knows_ she's not imagining the way his eyes skim quickly down her body, lingering on her legs for just a second too long before he pulls his gaze back, thankfully in time for him to miss the flush that spreads across her cheeks. Climbing onto the machine beside his, she takes her own opportunity to admire what she sees, again finding her eyes drawn to his arms, his chest, before she clears her throat and starts to move.

"How's the knee holding up?" she asks, noting that he doesn't seem to be in pain and he's moving at a decent enough speed.

"Pretty good, but ask me again in five minutes when I try and walk across the room," he says, turning, smiling slightly and apparently pre-empting her next question. "And no, I didn't have anyone look at it yet. I was going to see how it felt on the weekend and go from there."

"I wasn't going to..." She shrugs and returns his smile before looking away, down at the screen on the front of the elliptical. "Alright, maybe I was."

They workout in silence, each with the occasional glance at the TV on the wall ahead of them, and almost every minute she gives thanks she doesn't have to produce ACN's painfully fluffy morning show, or, even worse, the lunchtime show she was on the verge of accepting before Charlie tracked her down in DC. A show where the selling point is someone cooking to detract from the no doubt _abysmal_ content was never exactly going to be a winner. She picks up her pace, not missing the fact that he does the same next to her.

"Why the hell do we still put that guy on the air every morning?" Will's voice cuts into her thoughts and she looks over at him.

"By _we_ I'm guessing you mean us as a network, and I would hazard a guess at the reason being that putting him on in prime time would be unthinkable?" She smirks and glances up at the TV. "Nobody would ever take someone grinning that inanely in the evening seriously. Which is why we have you, a grin-free zone."

"Was that meant to be a compliment?" he asks, raising an eyebrow when she turns back to him.

"Wasn't meant to be an anything, just a fact, I guess," she says, looking at the time and starting to slow down, aware she needs to get moving soon. "Don't take it personally, I'm not saying you never smile, I'm fairly sure I've seen it happen once or twice."

"It wouldn't fucking happen at all if I was on air at this time every morning," he says with a resigned huff.

"I know." She smiles at him as she comes to a stop and grabs her towel. "You're a lot of things, Billy, but a morning person isn't one of them."

There are a few loaded seconds of silence and she can't help remember when they were very first together and she realised they were polar opposites in that respect; that she works better, faster, more efficiently in the morning, while he is absolutely a night owl. So many mornings she'd get up to drag piles of work back to bed and would be going through reports or sending emails in the early morning light as he snored lightly beside her.

"You know, I've been thinking..." She climbs down from the machine and runs the towel quickly across her face before draping it around her neck. "About the election night broadcast."

"It's almost four weeks until election night," he says, slowing his pace, his eyes flicking down her body and back to her face, so quickly she wonders if he was even aware of it himself.

"I know, but we have real potential there to claw our audience back, to wipe the Genoa fiasco from their minds, so I want to make sure it's the best show it can be. And if it turns out to be our swan song, I want to go out with a bang." She reaches for her water bottle, pausing to take a drink, aware that he's waiting to hear what she has planned. "Which is why I want Taylor at the desk with you, Elliot and Sloan."

"Taylor?" He frowns and looks her blankly as he comes to a stop.

"Taylor Warren, the Romney spokeswoman?" The blank look clears, replaced by disbelief, but he says nothing so she goes on. "She's interesting, she's opinionated, and she won't hold back. It's what we need, someone willing to throw her voice out there and not give a shit what people think."

"Jesus, Mac, it's going to be a long enough night." He steps down and moves in front of her, sighing slightly dramatically. "She's going to drive me nuts."

"Yes she is, it'll be perfect." She grins at him, mildly distracted by the slow trickle of sweat making its way down his cheek. "You're never better than when someone is needling you, setting you on edge. It makes you work harder and it's beautiful to watch, you know that as well as I do, despite all your grumbling."

"But she's...well, it's usually you doing the needling, and I...I'm used to you," he says, reaching up and running a hand across his forehead, leaving his hair looking decidedly morning like.

"Oh, I'll be needling the hell out of you too, nothing changes there, you don't need to worry about that," she says, grinning again as she watches resignation set in on his face.

"Tag team needling, I can barely wait." He rolls his eyes and takes a step forward, sliding the towel from around her neck and moving it to his own, running it slowly across his skin as she bites her lip. "Sorry, forgot mine."

"It's fine," she says, shaking her head and swallowing hard. "I think the rules are that you get to wash it now though."

"Sounds fair," he says, draping the towel around his neck and scratching the back of his head. "Did you want to grab breakfast? Or coffee?"

"I'd love to but I have a painfully early meeting, I'm going to try and grab a coffee on the way in." She's surprised by how disappointed she feels at having to say no, and at how she pleased she is that he asked. "I'll see you at the first rundown meeting."

"How about...I know it's Friday so you probably have plans already, but if you don't..." His voice stops her as she turns away and she feels her heart skitter in her chest at his hesitant tone, nervous almost. "How about dinner tonight? After the show, obviously. If you're not busy-"

"I'm not busy," she says quickly, stopping him, turning to face him and smiling. "Dinner sounds nice, sure."

"Alright, good." He nods and the smile he gives her is reminiscent of the kind of smile she hasn't seen on his face in a long time, one that isn't instantly followed by a look of regret, at irritation that he dared to let his guard down. "And it's not going to be our fucking swan song, Mac. Election night, it's _not_."

"I'll...I should go. I'll see you at work." She smiles at turns towards the doors, a feeling of cautious hope starting to bloom inside her. She has no idea what's going on, what just happened, and she wonders if maybe she's reading too much into a simple dinner, but she really hopes not.

*

Her morning is spent running between meetings, being stopped by various members of staff with questions, by Sloan asking for three extra minutes, and the entire time her mind is racing, overthinking Will's invitation to dinner. When she said she wasn't free for breakfast, wouldn't grabbing lunch together have been the most logical suggestion he could have made? Should she make an effort, change into non-work clothes, or is that going to backfire spectacularly when he asks why she's all dressed up? Needing air suddenly, she picks up her coat and heads out, relieved to make it downstairs and outside completely unimpeded. Her first stop is for coffee, given that her hope of having time to grab one before her early meeting hadn't quite paid off. Her next stop is to retrieve a dress she left at the cleaner two weeks ago and never quite remembered to collect, a dress that will work for tonight, a dress that says 'hey, I'm not a work dress but I'm also not expecting the Met Gala'. Perfect.

She's barely back in her office and hanging the dress up when Sloan walks in behind her, no doubt about to start again about how vital it is she has the extra three minutes she wants in tonight's show.

"They called again and told you they'd sell it if you didn't pick it up, right?" Sloan waves vaguely at the dress, smirking slightly.

"That has literally never happened," she says, watching as Sloan raises an eyebrow. "Well, it hasn't happened _recently_..."

"I'm impressed nonetheless." Sloan says, a dart of curiosity moving into her eyes. "You have plans for the weekend? Little black dress plans?"

"Oh, no, I just felt like wearing something out to dinner tonight other than the clothes I've been wearing for work all day." She shrugs but she knows Sloan is about to launch into an interrogation, so she tries to ready herself.

"Ooh, dinner, tell all..." Sloan waits for her to sit down behind her desk and then takes the chair opposite. "Please tell me you're finally dipping a toe back in the dating pool. It's been so damn long, Kenzie. I mean, insanely long, like I don't even know how-"

"Alright, Sloan, you've made your point," she says, wryly, knowing her friend means well in her directness. "And only you could read so much into a dress I just happened to pick up from the cleaner because I was getting coffee three doors down."

"So you _don't_ have a date tonight?" Sloan looks confused, and not entirely like she believes it.

"You know it is completely within reason to go out for dinner with a friend on a Friday night without it being a date." She's stalling, she knows it, because she has no real idea what tonight is and she definitely doesn't want Sloan to start with her particular brand of speculation.

"Sure, I know," Sloan says, sounding like she knows nothing of the kind. "So...who's the friend you're having dinner with?"

"Sloan, seriously, I do have work to do here," she says, sighing as she feels herself squirm under Sloan's gaze. "And I'm guessing you didn't come in here just to question me about my dinner plans, so-"

"Mackenzie McHale, are you having dinner with _Will_?" If she wasn't quite so uncomfortable, she'd be amused by how high Sloan's eyebrows currently are. "And don't you dare lie to me."

"God, you're like a dog with a bone." She sighs again, more heavily this time as she shakes her head. "Yes, I'm having dinner with Will."

"Well, well," Sloan says, crossing her arms in front of her as a knowing smile spreads across her lips.

"Did you actually want something? If you're here to harass me about the extra two minutes, don't bother. I said yes, unless something drastic happens between now and the final rundown, you can have your extra minutes." She leans back in her chair, aware that Sloan is probably not finished, so waiting for her follow up. "There's a good chance something could happen that means I change my mind though. You do know we're four weeks out from election night, right?"

"I do." Sloan nods. "Which is exactly why it's important that you give me the extra minutes tonight. And nice try on the two minutes, but it's three. You promised me three."

"Fine, I already said you can have them," she says, reaching for the pile of papers on her desk in the hope Sloan has lost interest, a futile hope, she knows. "As much as I'd love to keep going around in circles on this, I really do need to get on."

"Who asked who to dinner?" Sloan stands, waits for her to look up.

"Does it matter?" She knows it matters. Of course it matters. "If Jim and I were having dinner, would you care who suggested it?"

"Of course not. That's completely different," Sloan says, her tone suggesting it was a stupid question, her body language suggesting she's not yet done. "You're not in love with Jim."

"You're right, I'm not in love with Jim." She looks up, holds her nerve and knows the second Sloan gives up, sighing as she turns for the door.

"Fine, I have work to do too," Sloan steps around the chair and stops as she reaches the door, turning back. "But if you think I'm not calling you tomorrow to find out _everything _, you're so, so wrong."__

__*_ _

__The conversation in the final rundown meeting turns to election night and she's both surprised and pleased by the team throwing out plenty of great suggestions, and by Jim not offering up any protest when she tells him she's planning to approach Taylor. Will too raises no objection, so she decides he's either accepted it or he's biding his time until he can catch her off guard and start to wage a campaign against it. If that's his plan, she's ready for it. She knows better than he does what works on screen, what kind of debate proves an exciting watch, who makes a good match for him; it's her job, after all, but it's more than that, she knows _him_ , almost too well at times. Despite that, he can be inscrutable at times, and more than once in the meeting he sends a look her way that she just can't read, something in his eyes that throws her off guard and sends a rush of warmth running through her._ _

__It's a productive meeting that she exits knowing they have a good show planned for the evening, they have a barebones plan starting to fall into place for election night, and Sloan gets the extra minutes she wants. Everyone is happy. She's at Jim's desk, double checking on a source and offering a name should they need a back up, when she feels Will step up beside her, startling her slightly when his hand reaches for her arm, something urgent in his touch._ _

__"I need to talk to you," he says, an oddly nervous look in his eyes as he glances briefly at Jim, assessing whether they're still in the midst of something._ _

__"Sure, what's up?" She gives him an encouraging smile but he merely frowns in response and she feels a shadow of worry start to creep up on her._ _

__"Not here." He cups her elbow and steers her away from Jim's desk, towards his office, almost pushing her through the door in his haste._ _

__"What's wrong?" she asks, confused by his peculiar combination of urgency and nervousness. "Will?"_ _

__"In the meeting just then, you said what you said to me at the gym..." He pauses, closes his eyes for a fraction and shakes his head before going on. "That you want the election night broadcast to be the best it can be, after everything with Genoa, you said you have making up to do-"_ _

__"You know all of this already. I do think it's important we pull off a really strong election show, if we bring in the numbers then maybe we can start to make some ground on what we lost," she says, frowning, still unsure where he's going." I don't get what-"_ _

__"You're missing the point, Mac. You said _you_ have making up to do, and I sat there thinking about how you keep talking like this whole thing was down to you, when it wasn't, it really fucking wasn't, and it's driving me crazy that nothing I say seems to convince you." He puts his hands on her shoulders, holding her firm but stroking his thumbs in slow, gentle circles. "We all fucked up with Genoa, we all got things wrong, but you're the one who figured it out, who caught it, and then suddenly I just..."_ _

__"What? You just what?" She feels her heart sink as she tries to make sense of his babbling. "Are you saying...are you saying I should resign? If I take the hit for it, ACN could come out of it relatively unscathed and I might _just_ be able to salvage enough of my career by pushing the fact that I was the one who caught it. That could actually work, I-"_ _

__"This could not be going more wrong," he says, his voice loaded with frustration as he sighs. "You're not fucking resigning, nobody is fucking resigning. What I'm saying is I realised that except for what you did wrong, you did everything right. Not just with Genoa, but with _us_ , you made one mistake and you tried to explain, but I just kept making you pay for it, and all this time you did everything right. You came back, you turned the show around, you put up with me, you...fuck, I love you, Mackenzie, I've never stopped loving you, I don't want to go one more day without-"_ _

__"Wait, what the fuck?" Her head is spinning, he's looking at her like he always used to, he's telling her loves her, and any minute now someone is surely going to wake her up. "I thought you were...you're not firing me?"_ _

__"I'm definitely not firing you," he says, moving his hands from her shoulders to her face, his fingertips sliding into her hair, his thumbs warm against her cheekbones. "I love you, I'm in love with you, always have been, always will be. Even if you tell me to get the hell out of here, I'm going to be in love with you for the rest of my life, I'm-"_ _

__He doesn't finish his sentence because she doesn't need him to, he's said enough, so she stops him, leaning up and covering his lips with her own, vaguely aware that they're in his office and that the entire bullpen could be watching, but not caring enough to be able to drag herself away from him. It takes him a second to respond but when he does it's with an enthusiasm that instantly transports her back seven years, to the days when neither of them could resist pushing the other into a quiet corner of an editing bay or an empty control room to do just this._ _

__"God, I spent all morning stressing about dinner tonight," she murmurs as she pulls back, smiling contentedly at him. "I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to put a dress on, or get my hopes up that it might be a date, if it was just...you know, dinner..."_ _

__"Get your hopes up," he says firmly, taking her hand and pulling her across the room so they're no longer potentially in full view of the entire staff before leaning down to kiss her again. "It's a date."_ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So here he is, halfway through the show with the box in his inside jacket pocket, weighing him down like a rock, like an actual rock, with only the thought of it hopefully ending up on her finger before the night is over easing some of the load._

He almost did it earlier, right after he told her he loved her. He could have reached into his drawer, taken out the box, and the ring could have been sitting on her finger by now, exactly where it's meant to be. When she came into his office half an hour before the show, closed the door, gave him a sweet smile and murmured "you know I love you too, right?" he could have done it then. Instead he had smiled back, pulled her away from the door out of sight and kissed her as he said "I do" in return.

So here he is, halfway through the show with the box in his inside jacket pocket, weighing him down like a rock, like an _actual_ rock, with only the thought of it hopefully ending up on her finger before the night is over easing some of the load. He knows tonight's show won't sit amongst his finest; he's distracted, he's preoccupied, and every time her voice fills his ear he has to bite back a grin that would have people thinking he'd been kidnapped and replaced by an imposter. He made a call before the show, secured them a table for dinner, a quiet table, close enough to the back of the restaurant that nobody will notice them, but not close enough that she might feel like he's trying to hide. And shit, the last thing he wants to do is hide, he'd throw a parade to announce how much he loves her if he didn't think she'd kill him. Yet he doesn't want to propose to her in a restaurant, it doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel like them, so he's pretty sure his decision to do it post- show, pre-dinner is what has his nerves in such a tangle.

"Three thirty, everyone." Her voice breaks him out of his musings and he leans back in his chair as they go to commercials, not entirely surprised when he sees her come through the door into the studio.

"Where's your head at tonight, Billy?" She moves around the front of the desk, directly in front of him, standing exactly where she needs to in order to block the view of him from the control room. "You seem...I can't quite think of the right word. Twitchy, maybe?"

"Twitchy?" He smirks at her choice of word, even though it's an apt one.

"Yeah, you look like you're about to fly out of your chair at any second, it's a little unsettling." She leans forward and rests her elbows on the desk. "Not to mention it took you three attempts to say statistician."

"Wouldn't it take most people three attempts to say statistician?" he asks, running his finger slowly across her hand. "There, got it first time."

"Maybe, but you're not most people," she says, glancing down at his hand on hers and smiling. "You alright?"

"It's Friday, and in..." He looks at his watch and a flicker of a smile crosses his face. "Around forty minutes I'll be eating dinner with the woman I love. Properly, on a date, for the first time in way too long. Yeah, I'm alright."

"Good." She lifts her hand out from under his and moves it to his collar, her fingers tickling his neck as she straightens his tie, the tie he's pretty certain was straight enough already. "Sixty back, let's see if we can close this show out without anymore of the big words tripping you up."

"I'll do my best," he says, pulling her hand from his tie and kissing her fingers quickly, pleased when a flush of colour fills her cheeks and she bites her lip as she turns away.

*

He feels like an idiot, standing in his bathroom rehearsing what he wants to say, going over everything he's thinking... _I love you, I want to be with you for the rest of my life, I'll never hurt you again, I don't want to ever be without you. Marry me, will you marry me?_...and then he realises he's wasting his time because the minute she's standing in front of him he's going to have no control over the words that tumble from him, so he puts the ring back in his pocket and decides that as long as "Mackenzie, I love you, will you marry me?" is somewhere in there, it'll do.

It's a nice enough restaurant they're going to, not insanely pretentious, he hates that, but good enough that he decides to keep the suit on rather than changing back into his jeans, removing the tie, opening the top two buttons of his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he looks into the bathroom mirror, checks his pocket for the ring once more, and heads out in the direction of her office.

It's Friday night so the bullpen has emptied out almost completely. Apart from Elliot, Don, Sloan and some of the other ten o'clock staff, only Jim, Neal, and Jenna are still at their desks - oh, and someone whose name he really must learn at some point is diligently manning the alerts desk. He knocks lightly on Mackenzie's door and she calls for him to come in, looking up as he does. She has her glasses on, her hair is now out of its control room ponytail, and her smile sends the butterflies in his stomach into overdrive as he shuts the door behind him.

She stands up and moves around the desk, and he sees she's changed into a black dress that sits higher above the knee than her usual work skirts, making her legs look impossibly long in combination with the heels she's paired it with. He watches as she sends a glance down his body, her eyebrows raising slightly at the realisation that he hasn't changed back into his own clothes.

"You look nice," he says, realising that nice doesn't even start to cover it. "Beautiful. You look beautiful."

"Thank you, you look nice too." she says, stepping closer and sliding her thumbs across the collar of his shirt. "You're keeping the suit on?"

"Yeah, I thought I would." He shrugs, suddenly nervous again thinking of what he's about to do. "So, I...there's something I didn't do earlier, didn't ask, and I need to...no, I _want_ to...okay, hang on."

Reaching into his pocket he pulls out the small blue box, fumbling with it, wondering why he didn't just take the damn thing out of the box earlier, but eventually managing to hurl the outer packaging onto her desk, leaving just the black velvet box in his hand. Taking a breath, he looks at her, smiling at the expression on her face, her eyes wide, mouth slightly open in surprise, and he opens the box where the ring sits, sparkling almost proudly between them.

"Oh!" She moves to reach for it but pulls back again, shaking her head slightly as if not quite sure what it means, her bottom lip pulled firmly between her teeth.

"So, here's the thing. I don't want to ever be without you again, I...I love you, I'm going to be in love with you for the rest of my life, and no matter what, that won't change, it's just a physical law of the universe, you _own_ me..." He pauses to take the ring out of the box, willing his hand to stop shaking as he does. "Mackenzie Morgan McHale, will you marry me?"

"I don't...what the fuck is...?" The surprise in her eyes turns to happiness as she nods, and a slow smile spreads across her lips. "Will I...? Yes, yes."

"You're saying yes?" It's his turn now to be blindsided, and he isn't sure why, he wasn't really afraid she'd say no but it hits him now that she absolutely could have and relief overwhelms him as he reaches for her hand.

"I'm saying yes." Her smile isn't hesitant in the slightest, it's bright and wide and one hundred percent reaching her eyes, for the first time in too long, he realises with a pang of sadness. "Yes."

When he slides the ring onto her finger, her smile bubbles over into a giggle, and it's the sound he's missed hearing so much, a reminder that happy Mackenzie is even more beautiful than Mackenzie in any other mood, and it hits him just how lucky he is to have her back. She runs her right thumb over the diamond, slowly, trying to acquaint herself with it, he thinks, and when she looks back up at him he can't help grinning before he pulls her to him, slides his hand into her hair, and kisses her. It's different from the kisses of earlier, it lacks the edge of panic (on his part, at least) that came from not knowing if she was going to pull away and tell him he'd left it too late. What it doesn't lack is the same yearning to relearn everything he knew about her, how she tastes, the feel of her lips on his, her hand grasping his waist, and her fingers curling against him. He pulls back and she smiles at him, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright as they look right into his.

"Dinner?" he murmurs, sliding his hands slowly down her arms and threading his fingers into hers as she nods. "I made reservations."

"Mmm, I'm hungry," she says, looking up at him with a glint in her eye that sends a jolt of arousal right down into his core.

Reluctantly he lets her slide her hand from his and he watches as she takes her coat down from where it was hanging, quickly putting it on. Turning back to him, she hesitates and he quirks an eyebrow, not quite sure what she's asking, but then he sees her bag on the floor beside the desk and he answers her by picking it up and smiling at her. He has no idea what's in it other than her gym clothes from this morning but he hopes by picking it up she knows he doesn't intend for her to leave his side anytime this side of Sunday. She reaches for his hand and they head for the door, her fingers firmly clasped in his as she leads him through the bullpen.

"Good night, have good weekends, everyone," she says as they weave through the desks in the direction of the elevators. For a second he wonders if she spots the looks on the faces of their clearly stunned team and then he realises that of course she does, that she knows exactly what she's doing, breezing out with her hand in his, leaving them all guessing, and holy shit, he loves her for it.

*

"When you asked me to dinner, was it just because I wasn't free for breakfast?" she asks, her nose wrinkling slightly as she leans back in her chair. "I mean, you could have invited me to lunch instead, but you chose dinner, which seems more...I don't know what, really, but I'm curious."

"I don't know, if I'm honest," he says, waiting to see if she elaborates, wondering what triggered her question.

"You don't know?" She frowns at him and leans forward again, picking up her fork and reaching for the remaining bite of chocolate cake on his plate. He wonders if she's well aware he left it there for her. "I don't know if I'm buying that. Now, I love you, so I mean this in the best way, but spontaneity really isn't in your DNA."

"I really just...all I knew, in that moment when you were about to walk away, was that I wanted to take you out tonight." He pauses, realising only now that he really did think of it as a date, that the relief he felt when she said yes was not the feeling that comes when a friend agrees to grab a casual bite to eat. "Properly. I wanted to eat dinner with you, like we used to, when we were...together."

"And if you hadn't had your epiphany this afternoon?" She smiles and slides the fork down onto his plate before her fingers find his, squeezing gently, her thumb rubbing across his knuckles.

"Maybe I'd have had it tonight," he says, watching as she slowly tucks her hair behind her ear with her free hand. "Maybe the minute I saw you in that dress everything would have become clear and I'd have been unable to resist throwing you over this table and saying to hell with dinner."

"Well then, I'm glad the penny dropped this afternoon, because it would have been such a shame to miss out on that steak I just ate," she says, her smile growing wider. "And in the grand scheme of things, your office was _slightly_ more private than it is here."

"Not by much," he says, rolling his eyes slightly. "I mean, why is there so much glass in our newsroom? The doors, the walls, all made of fucking glass, there hardly seems any point in us having our own offices."

"Well, still a better choice on your part than here. I’d hate to be thrown out of a place as nice as this for lewd behaviour," she says, pausing as the waitress arrives to clear their plates, smiling her thanks before turning back to him. "Not to mention how those fuckers on the morning show would have an absolute blast with that kind of gossip."

"It’d be one way to announce our engagement, I guess." He smiles at her, and she returns it as he signals their intention to leave as the waitress passes by, nodding as she acknowledges his request.

"A terrible one, but yeah, it would be one way of doing it." She sighs and a trace of a frown crosses her face. "How _are_ we going to tell people?"

"You could just send Sloan an email and see where it ends up," he says, squeezing her hand as she shakes her head and gives him a hint of a grin. "Or you could just not worry right now about announcing anything and come home with me instead."

"I wasn’t worrying," she says, biting her lip as she looks across the table at him. "And yes, given that you were enterprising enough to make sure my gym bag didn’t stay under the desk in my office, I could definitely _consider_ coming home with you."

"I’ll make it worth your while." He lowers his voice, suddenly able to think of nothing other than getting her back to his apartment, peeling her dress off, and kissing every damn freckle on her body.

"Oh, I know you will." He sees a flicker of sadness cross her face before she shakes it off and smiles at him. "I've missed you, Billy."

He doesn't have words to even begin to express how much he's missed her, to explain how he wanted so badly, for so long, to forgive her, to stop punishing her and then to apologise for being unable to. So he doesn't try, instead he takes hold of her hands, squeezing hard enough that she raises an eyebrow, intrigued by his sudden intensity.

"I'm never going to hurt you again, Mackenzie," he says, his voice low yet firm as he looks into her eyes. " _Never_."

"I know that," she says, giving him a soft smile. "I _know_. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't believe that."

"Alright." He nods, knowing on a deeper level that she of course knows that, but still feeling better for having said it aloud.

"Now..." She leans forward slightly and smiles at him, a small smile full of promise. "Do you want coffee or do you want to take your fiancée home?"

"I'm pretty sure you can guess the answer to that," he says, standing up, hurling a pile of bills onto the table and grabbing her by the hand. "Let's get out of here."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When they walk through the door into his apartment, he feels her hesitate beside him. He doesn’t know why, and then he can’t help thinking that maybe he should know why and that makes him realise how much talking they have to do._

Her hand rests on his thigh for the car ride from the restaurant, her shoulder presses comfortably against his arm, and it feels like it always used to; comfortable, natural, like everything in the universe is where it's meant to be. When they walk through the door into his apartment, he feels her hesitate beside him. He doesn’t know why, and then he can’t help thinking that maybe he should know why and that makes him realise how much talking they have to do. He wants a clean slate, he needs her to know he loves her completely, unconditionally, that what happened the first time they were together, all of the bad stuff, the way things ended, is firmly in the past, and that all that matters now is the future.

"I don’t know why I’m surprised, but this is such a guy’s apartment," she says, walking ahead of him into the living room, stopping and looking appraisingly around. "What’s the word? A man- cave?"

"You've been here before, Mackenzie," he says, watching as she walks over to the window and looks out onto the city before turning back to him.

"In two and a half years, I’ve been here twice, once when there were about fifty other people cluttering up the place, and once when you…" She stops, looks away, out of the window again, wrapping her arms around herself. "Well, you know, the night you-"

"I know." He stops her, not wanting to think about that night, about how things reached a point lower than he ever imagined they could, ending with him waking up in a hospital room with an anxious looking Mackenzie by his side.

He crosses the room and stands behind her, needing to touch her, to cement in his mind the fact she's actually here, in his apartment, and that the ring that sat for too long in his drawer is finally on her finger. She sighs but he can hear in its sound that it's one of contentment and the look on her face when she turns to him confirms it. He says nothing because he thinks she has something to say, so he's surprised when instead she slides her arms around him and buries her face into his chest as he instinctively strokes his hand tenderly through her hair.

"You okay?" he asks after a few seconds that feel much longer, holding his breath slightly as he waits for her answer.

"Yeah, I just needed to do that before we do anything else," she says, a soft smile on her face as she pulls back and looks up at him. "It's just...it's been quite a day, that's all."

He nods and smiles back. He gets it. If he feels like they've hurtled through the day at breakneck speed and he's the one who instigated things, he can only imagine how she's feeling, starting her day as usual but ending it with an engagement ring on her finger from someone she seemed sure was about to fire her. He's about to respond when she reaches for him and leans up, her lips covering his, her kiss unexpectedly tentative at first, growing hungrier when he swipes his tongue across her bottom lip and slides his fingers back into her hair.

Without breaking contact for even a second, she pushes his jacket off his shoulders and he feels her fingers on his shirt, opening the first button with ease but fumbling slightly on the second, moaning against him in vague frustration. Reluctantly he pulls his lips from hers and takes her hand, squeezing her fingers and pulling her slowly towards the bedroom, pausing only briefly to pick up his discarded jacket and throw it over the couch.

He steps into the bedroom and drops her hand so he can turn on the lamp, smiling at her as she stands at the foot of the bed, biting her lip and tucking her hair behind her ear as she watches him. For a few long seconds neither of them moves and he notes the brightness in her eyes, the faint pink flush across her cheeks, a mix he's almost certain is part nerves, part excitement, a combination that sends a shiver of anticipation through his body as he steps towards her.

His hand moves to the back of her neck and slides under the fabric of her dress, his fingers roaming across the soft warmth of her skin before he starts to slowly unzip her. She releases a breath, a gentle sigh, and he feels the hairs on his arms rise up in response, accompanied by a sudden tightening in his groin. Her dress falls slowly to the floor and she reaches for his hand to steady herself as she steps out of her heels and kicks them aside. When she turns to him, there's a coy smile on her face, a faint trace of nerves in her eyes that fades slightly when he runs his thumbs tenderly across her cheekbones. He kicks off his own shoes and makes light work of the rest of his buttons before throwing the shirt to the floor, no longer giving a shit that it needs to be returned to wardrobe on Monday, the sight of her in front of him in just her underwear more than worth whatever trouble they give him.

Her breath tickles his chest as she makes quick work of removing his belt, and her hand runs slowly over his crotch as she unzips his pants and pushes them down over his hips. Somehow he manages to step out of them without falling flat on his face, and a hint of a groan escapes him when she brushes the back of her hand across his now blatantly obvious arousal. He realises that just having her touch him again was everything he needed, seeing the look in her eyes that says she wants him as much as he wants her, and he can't wait another second to run his lips all over her.

He nudges her backwards against the bed and leans down to kiss her, his hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he feels her moan gently, the sound sending a low hum through his chest. His lips drift from hers down to her jaw, her neck, and he flicks his tongue over the spot just beneath her ear that used to make her squirm, her hand gripping hard onto his shoulder telling him it still does.

"God, I missed you," he murmurs softly against her skin, his teeth scraping gently over the tip of her shoulder.

"I think I missed you more," she replies quietly, sliding her hand down his arm, her fingers tracing a slow pattern to his wrist. "Not that it's a contest, and not that it matters now, not anymore. This is it, right? Neither of us is going anywhere again."

"I'm never even going into a room if you're not in it," he says, lifting his head and looking into her eyes, holding her gaze until a smile moves onto her lips.

"I don't think that's entirely practical, Billy," she says, her smile growing as she squeezes his fingers. "But I appreciate the sentiment."

"You know what I want right now?" He lowers his voice and watches as she bites her lip, tilting her head in curiosity. "I want to take off your underwear, I want you to get your beautiful self on that bed, and I want to kiss every inch of your body."

"So what are you waiting for?" Her voice cracks slightly and he watches as she swallows hard before reaching to unclasp her bra and smiling at him.

He takes her at her word and doesn't wait a second longer, sliding the bra straps down her shoulders and tossing it to the floor, his eyes automatically drawn down to where she's now wearing nothing but simple black panties. It isn't that he'd forgotten how she looks in this moment, more that he'd really had to work on _trying_ to forget, a feat much easier said than done. Now he doesn't have to, now she's here, standing in front of him, only a scrap of black cotton between reality and the dreams he frequently wakes up from. His hand trails down her side, over her ribcage, around to her stomach, making its way to her abdomen until he slips his finger under her panties. Her muscles contract under his touch and he feels a hint of a shiver run through her, a response so automatic it only serves to deepen his craving for the taste of her skin under his lips. He slides the panties down, quickly, almost roughly, pausing only when she braces herself against his shoulder to step out of them. Leaning up, she kisses him, a hard, fervent kiss, and then she moves to the bed, stretching out on her side and looking up at him, her mouth curved in the sweet, sexy smile that has always felled him like an oak.

"Equal playing field," she says, her eyes darting down. "Shorts off."

He wastes no time in obeying, before climbing onto the bed beside her, his hand reaching for her, cupping her face as he kisses her, a slow, deep kiss that comes from years of not being able to touch her, to taste her. His thumb rests on her cheekbone and he feels her hand move to the back of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair, her nails scratching lightly across his skin.

"I love you, Mackenzie." He wonders if, at some point, she might get tired of him saying the words almost constantly, as he intends to do, and then he sees the genuinely happy smile spread over her face and he thinks maybe not.

"I know," she says, rubbing her nose against his as she smiles. "I love you too."

He shifts, just enough to dip his head down to her neck, to run his tongue across her collarbone, his teeth nipping lightly when she breathes his name into his ear. His hand moves to her hip, her ass, her thigh, like he's trying to touch every part of her all at once, reacquainting his fingers with her skin, with the softness he's missed so damn much for the last five years. Her legs. Dear God, he's always loved her legs, from the first time she walked towards him he knew he was in trouble and when she shifts slightly to run her foot down his calf, he knows he still is.

Sliding lower down her body, he takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking lightly, his hand firm on her thigh as he feels her push against him in response. Her fingers move into his hair, her grip tightening as he scrapes his teeth across her skin, and he feels himself get harder when she moans loudly into the quiet of the room. He moves his hand, shifting his touch to her inner thigh, pressing his fingers against her as she quivers involuntarily, her body seeming to sense exactly where he's heading. Sucking harder on her nipple, he pushes one finger inside her, gently, slowly, following it with a second when he feels how wet she is. He slides both fingers deeper and she hisses his name, tugging on his hair, squirming as he starts to stroke inside her, slowly but firmly, determined to find the spot that will elicit the sound he loves, the sound he thought that, because of his own damn stubbornness, he might never hear again.

"Oh my God, yes!" It's almost a shriek and it tells him he's right there, his middle finger crooked exactly where it needs to be, pressing just a fraction harder with each stroke.

Overwhelmed suddenly by the need to see her face, he lets her nipple slide from his mouth and glances up, his fingers keeping up their steady rhythm inside her, his thumb swiping gently on the outside. She has her eyes closed and her cheeks are flushed, and her hand moves out of his hair and down to her breast, her palm running absently over her nipple, pink and hard, still wet from his touch. He's almost achingly hard now, pushing against her leg, and it spurs him on, the thought that in a matter of minutes he's going to be inside her again after way too long. But first he wants to feel her come, he wants to feel her muscles tighten around his fingers, wants to hear her moaning with satisfaction in his ear. Scooting up slightly, he runs his tongue up her neck and when she opens her eyes and fixes them on him, he can see how close she is, and he gives three, four final deep strokes as he watches her prepare for release. She breathes out, the breath becoming a moan, the moan a faint wail, and then he feels it as she tenses around him, his fingers suddenly wetter, warmer, and a long indescribable sound falls from her lips as she comes hard against him.

Closing the distance, he presses his lips to hers and pulls his fingers slowly out of her, feeling her sigh as he does. Her hands move to his face, her thumbs tickling his cheekbones, and she opens her eyes as she pulls her mouth from his.

"Inside me, Billy," she says, rolling fully onto her back and opening her legs so he can settle between them.

He kisses her again, unable to resist the pink of her cheeks, the brightness of her eyes, pushing his tongue against hers, the kiss slow, languid, her breath hot against his. He feels her hand move down between them, her fingers wrapping around him, stroking him even harder, and when she shifts just a fraction to rub herself against him, her wetness coats his tip and he lets out a long, low groan. Hooking his hand under her thigh, he can't wait a second longer so he slides into her, slowly and in one long stroke, his low groan and her gentle moan mingling together as he savours the feeling of being deep inside her again after so long.

Almost instantly it feels like it always did with her, the way it has never felt with anyone else, no matter how hard he tried to pretend, or how much he told himself that he was embellishing the memory of being with her and that someone else would measure up eventually. Her arms slide around his neck and her fingers clasp tightly together behind his head. He realises he's started pushing into her hard and fast, and he tries to slow it down, the vague idea swirling around his brain that he really should attempt to last longer than a teenage boy, but she nixes that plan when she wraps her legs around him and lets out a long, ragged moan.

"We can do slow..." She pauses, scratches her nails across his hairline, takes a breath. "In the morning. For now, just...keep doing that."

Fuck, she's beautiful. Wide eyes, hair spread out over the pillow, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck and blooming lower, her tight, pink nipples pressed to his chest, she's the best thing his eyes have ever seen, he knows that, he's always known that. The knowledge that he gets to wake up with her every morning from now on makes him smile (although it's possible it resembles more of a grimace right now), and he watches as she looks momentarily curious before she returns it and throws her head back. Her hands slide from around his neck down to his shoulders as she moans again, louder this time, pushing him closer and closer. He can't resist her neck, the pale skin dusted with pink, a few strands of dark hair bathed in sweat and sticking to her, so he dips his head and runs his tongue slowly up to her jaw. When she turns her head and somehow manages to kiss him, despite the awkward angle, he knows it's game over and as she slips her tongue into his mouth he starts to come into her, almost like it was choreographed.

She carries on kissing him, her tongue chasing his, her own escaping to briefly run across his lips before sliding back into his mouth, her moans almost echoing right through him. He's still inside her, he's still hard, and when she gives a firm squeeze, he finishes with a groan, pushing all he has into her, taken by a primal need to fill her as completely as possible, her muscles urging him on.

He doesn't know how long her lips stay on his, how many times she murmurs his name, how many times he breathes hers, where his "I love you" blends with hers, but it's her smile as she pulls away that brings him back to earth. There are smudges of make-up under both eyes, her lips are pink and swollen, her forehead is glistening with sweat, and she's never looked more perfect. With a pang of disappointment, he feels himself softening and when she uncrosses her feet he slides slowly out of her.

"We're going to need to..." She gives a slight wince but shakes her head at his concerned frown. "I'm fine. It's just...well, it's been a while and you're not exactly a small guy...I'm fine, really. I'm so, so fine. When we get married I want it written into our vows that you will be inside me at least three times a week until death do us part."

"I feel like the church _may_ raise an objection to that..." He rolls onto his side next to her and pushes her hair gently away from her face, smiling, ready to wrap himself tightly around her and sleep well into Saturday. "But sure, we can try."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He's not at all surprised to find she's awake already, curled on her side next to him, her face free of make-up, making her look younger than she has any right to, her eyes clear and fixed firmly on him._

He's not at all surprised to find she's awake already, curled on her side next to him, her face free of make-up, making her look younger than she has any right to, her eyes clear and fixed firmly on him. She reaches out and her fingers slide into his hair as a soft smile tugs at her lips.

"Your morning hair," she says, her voice fogged with sleep. "I missed it."

"I don't remember the last time I slept as well as I did last night." He smiles, realising he feels more relaxed than he can remember feeling in...well, in so long he really _doesn't_ remember.

"Mmm, I noticed that." Her hand moves from his hair and her fingers stroke softly down his cheek. "You were asleep by the time I finished in the bathroom last night."

"Pretty sure that's because you were in the bathroom for about an hour," he says, smirking at her, awaiting the inevitable denial.

"Pretty sure it's _actually_ because you're old and I wore you out," she says, grinning when he pulls her hand from his cheek and kisses her fingers. "And because your bathroom mirror told me I had more mascara down my face than on my lashes. I didn't want you to wake up next to Alice Cooper and rip the diamond right back off my finger."

"The only time that diamond needs to come off is for the few minutes it takes to make way for a wedding band." He watches as she holds her arm up in front of her, tilting her hand until the light hits the ring the way she obviously hoped it would, if her smile is anything to go on.

"Twenty four hours ago I was trying to tell myself I shouldn't be jumping to conclusions, that an invite to dinner was probably just that, dinner and nothing more, but now here we are, engaged and..." She pauses and shifts closer to him, lifting the sheet and peeking underneath. "Yep, both naked in your bed."

"What, did you think at some point while you were sleeping I got up and put on pyjamas?" He grins, equally amused by her need to fact check before she finished her sentence, and aroused by the knowledge that she's still completely naked too.

"I wasn't really thinking about the logistics, Billy, I was just making sure," she says, sliding her hand under the sheet and running her nails lightly through the hairs on his chest. "I'm a journalist, I always like to go right to the source."

"You're right, I really should be equally thorough." He tugs the sheet down from where it's draped loosely over her, appreciating how the morning light showcases her soft skin and her gentle curves in a way the dim light of the night before couldn't quite manage.

It's only when he feels like he's seeing her naked for the first time in years that he realises how little his brain processed last night. He'd been so exhilarated by her simple presence, so captivated by her kisses, so completely consumed by her body pressed against his, that he hadn't fully appreciated just how beautiful she is. She screws up her nose, a hint of embarrassment crossing her face, and he realises how intently he's gazing at her, not that he could drag his eyes from her right now if he tried.

"You do remember what we we did last night, right? None of _this_..." She pauses and points downwards. "Well, it shouldn't really come as a surprise."

"Oh, I remember," he says, sighing as he thinks about the night before, about the taste of her skin, about the moment he finally slid back inside her, about the noises she made when she came. "But last night we didn't have the benefit of the light coming in through the windows, and we were pretty busy just...you know-"

"Getting it done?" She smiles and he nods because she's not wrong. "So, I blinded you with my epic sexiness? Good to know. Do I pass muster in the cold light of day?"

"I'm almost one hundred percent dead certain the answer is yes, but I'm going to need to undertake a full inspection. Just to be sure. Thorough." He props himself up on one elbow and reaches for her with his other hand, swiping his thumb across her shoulder. "Mmm, the freckle's still here."

"You and that damn freckle," she says, shaking her head and smiling, her eyes still fixed on his as his fingers trail from her shoulder and across her collarbone, perhaps more prominent than it was not so many months ago, but he controls the frown he feels threatening his brow.

"I definitely noticed these last night," he says, cupping her breast, running his thumb around her nipple, watching as it slowly stiffens under his touch. "No amount of brain fog would fail me here. You have fucking great boobs, Mackenzie."

"Thank you." She grins and he pauses, lingering for just a few seconds before continuing his tour.

"Oh, you're welcome." His hand stays pressed to her breast, his touch staying light but with just enough pressure that her skin puckers and he feels her nipple peak even harder under the tip of his thumb.

When he shifts his hand away, gently tickling the underside of her breast with the back of his fingers, she sighs and before he moves on he can't resist ducking his head to swipe his tongue quickly over her nipple. The sound she makes in response is more than worth it. The frown he held in check at the sight of her collarbone can't be contained when his fingers reach her ribcage, because even though she's always been slim (her long, toned limbs were one of the first things he noticed about her), he could never count her ribs as easily as he can right now.

"I know," she murmurs, reaching for his hand, tangling her fingers with his, her thumb stroking his skin. "You know how I am. When I'm stressed and things are difficult, I don't want to eat, I _can't_ eat, and it's been...well, it's been a pretty tough few months."

She shrugs, a sadness, a resignation crossing her face, and he realises suddenly just how much the last few months have taken their toll, how much she'd taken upon herself, shouldering the blame for Genoa and trying desperately to act like she was fine. He'd known she _wasn't_ fine, but they weren't in a place where he was brave enough to stand up and tell her he was worried about her, to sit her down and ask if she was eating or sleeping, and he wants to punch himself in the face for his cowardice.

"Fucking Genoa," he says with a heavy sigh. "Fucking Dantana. I'm sorry too, I should have-"

"Hey, it's a good thing I have someone to go out to dinner with now, right?" Her eyes are bright and the smile she gives him doesn't quite reach them, but she's trying and he loves her all the more for her determination.

"Right." He nods and swallows back a huge lump of guilt, trying but failing entirely to return her smile.

"Are you going to keep going, or what?" She nudges him and this time her smile is genuine. "I'll have you know I'm more than just great boobs and a bony ribcage."

"I'm well aware of your other offerings," he says, sliding his hand to her stomach, flat yet soft under his palm. "We haven't even made it to your ass yet, and you _know_ how I feel about that."

"If I didn't know how appealing you find my superior intellect, I'd be feeling really quite objectified right now." She smirks and he knows she's more than aware that her intelligence, her razor sharp thinking, her seemingly endless knowledge are hands down the biggest turn-ons for him. "But please, do continue."

His fingers dance lightly down over her hipbone and across her abdomen, pausing when he reaches the scar that he somehow failed to notice, or even think about, last night. Nothing mattered last night besides her skin against his, her body reacting to his touch, her kisses pushing away all logical thought. But now he feels it in the jagged patch of skin beneath his fingertips, the weight of how he pushed her away five years ago, how it led her to run, and what she went through as a result. An overwhelming and strange combination of guilt, relief, and gratitude floods through him and instinctively he slides down lower in the bed so he can press his lips to the scar, almost dizzy with the realisation that he so easily could have lost her.

"You okay down there?" Her voice aims for a casual tone but he hears the uncertainty bubbling under it.

"Yeah, I..." He lifts his head and glances up at her, his thumb moving across her skin. "I'm just...fuck, I'm sorry, I-"

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she says firmly, shaking her head, frowning slightly. "It's fine, it's...it was three years ago, Billy. I have bruises from bumping into my damn coffee table that bother me more than that scar does."

"But if we hadn't...if _I_ hadn't..." He pauses, unsure how to go on but knowing he needs to try. "You might never have been there at all if I'd just..."

"No, I might not have gone overseas at all, you're right." She shrugs and pushes her hair behind her ear. "Or maybe I would have. Maybe you'd have come with me and we would have become the first power couple of war reporting. Maybe I'd have stayed in DC and been mugged in a dark street by some random guy with a knife. Maybe I'd have been distracted and stepped into the path of a taxi. Shit happens, and sometimes it's nobody's fault, sometimes it's just bad luck, a case of wrong place, wrong time. It's as simple as that."

"But..." She's calm and matter of fact and he realises again how damn lucky he is that she wants to be within ten feet of him, let alone to marry him. "But if I-"

"If ifs and buts were coconuts we'd be swimming in piña coladas," she says with a faint laugh. "It happened, I was stabbed, I have a scar, it aches occasionally in damp weather, oddly, but mostly I forget it's there because it's fine, it's done, I'm okay. I want you to do the same, forget about it, the same way you forget your baseball injuries until every so often you think you're twenty and aggravate one of them trying to impress an intern. Okay?"

"I just..." He moves his hand from her abdomen back to her hip, his finger running absently around the bone as he sighs. "You're really not going to take anything but total agreement from me, are you?"

"Nope." She smiles and her hand reaches for his, still resting on her hipbone, her fingers squeezing his wrist. "I do know you though, you beautiful, strange, brooding man, so I'll settle for an 'I'll try.' Can you give me that much?"

"Alright." He manages a vague smile back as he nods. "I can try."

"Good enough." Her hand moves from his wrist and she slides her fingers into his, squeezing hard, her eyes fixed on him. "Get up here."

"Alright," he says, crawling back up the bed to lie beside her, pulling the sheet up over both of them, running a thumb slowly across her shoulder bone. "And I do _not_ try to impress the interns."

"Threw that in to make sure you were listening," she says, shrugging before leaning forward and rubbing her nose against his in a prelude to a soft, warm kiss. "What shall we do today?"

"What do you want to do?" he asks, knowing he'll agree to whatever she asks while she's lying here, eyes bright, a hint of colour dusting her skin, a sweet, gentle smile aimed in his direction.

"Based on my limited clothing options, I'm not sure we're overwhelmed with choice." She frowns and he feels her hand slide down under the sheet, her fingers stroking softly down his chest.

"You have a wardrobe at least fifteen times bigger than mine." Her nails scratch through the hairs on his chest and he grins. "I'm pretty sure you can find something."

"Firstly, that wouldn't be difficult considering your wardrobe consists of one tux, four pairs of jeans, five sweaters and a handful of t-shirts boasting various sports teams," she says, matching his grin and snuggling closer to him. "What I meant is all I have to choose from _here_ is last night's dress, yesterday's work clothes, or my filthy gym gear. And I have absolutely no clean underwear at all."

"Well..." He slides his hand down to her waist and pulls her against him. "My vote goes to last night's dress, sneakers, and not a damn thing more."

"And where do you suggest we go with me in such a fetching outfit?" She smiles widely at him as his fingers tickle her ribcage.

"To your place where I can sit and watch you change into whatever the hell you do want to wear today," he says, only now realising he's never been to her apartment before, wondering if it's how he pictures it, homely, far more so than his, organised yet welcoming, in typical Mackenzie style.

"We haven't even been engaged for twenty four hours and already you're excited about watching me put my clothes on," she says, a pout settling onto her lips. "I'm not sure that bodes entirely well."

"Watching you take them off is _always_ going to rank higher, but I figured if I'm going to take you to lunch you might not want to go in your birthday suit." He runs his thumb slowly over her bottom lip, grinning as her pout becomes a smile.

"Good, because my birthday was ten days ago, Billy, the suit is back in storage for another year." She sighs as he runs his fingertips over her cheekbones, unable to stop touching her now she's here, warm and relaxed beside him.

"Then I should be thankful it made a guest appearance last night, right?" He remembers this so well, how their morning banter would descend into almost nonsense yet they'd go with it right to the end.

"Oh, I think it's going to need to show up fairly regularly now there's someone who actually wants to see it," she says with a faint giggle that tells him she's as amused by the conversation as he is.

"See it, touch it..." His hand drifts down her neck, stroking softly across her collarbone as his lips find the spot under her ear that makes her squirm. "Kiss it."

"Mmm..." Her hand slides into his hair and he lifts his head to look at her, just like he's going to be able to do every morning now for the rest of his life, curious when he sees a frown crease her forehead. "Unless you can bring the bathroom to me, I'm going to need to get up."

"You know I'd do it if I could." Leaning in, he kisses her quickly before pulling back so she can move. "Go, I'll make coffee."

"Perfect," she says, climbing out from under the sheet and giving him an endearingly coy smile. "Can you give me something to put on for now? Just a t-shirt or something is fine."

"Sure," he says, sitting up and reaching for his shorts from the floor beside the bed. "Top drawer, help yourself."

"Yours, right?" She bites her lip and looks away, down at the floor.

"My what? T-shirts?" He's confused, unsure if they're still talking about t-shirts or if her mind has moved on and he hasn't quite caught up. "I don't-"

"I know I just rolled out of your bed, and I have this on my finger, so it really shouldn't matter, and it doesn't, but I..." She holds her hand up, pointing at the engagement ring, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips as it has every time she's looked at the ring since he slid it into place. "But I _really_ don't want to open that drawer and find a pile of Nina's cast-offs, that's all."

"Honey..." He drops his shorts back onto the floor and steps over to her, taking her hand and pulling her towards him, threading his fingers tightly through hers. "You could empty every fucking drawer in this apartment and you wouldn't find a trace of her, I swear. Not a single thing."

"Okay, good, I just...alright, sorry, I'm quite clearly in desperate need of caffeine." She lets out a huff of laughter, wrinkling her nose in what he knows is embarrassment, completely unnecessary embarrassment. "Go and start the coffee, I'll be right there."

In the few minutes it takes for the coffee to brew, he manages to work himself into a ridiculous state of worry, a four minute spiral of overthinking that takes him to the point where rational thought is about to abandon him. What if she's in the bedroom, picking up her clothes from the floor, or in the bathroom brushing her teeth, psyching herself up to tell him last night was good but that she can't marry him, not really? Or, and he thinks this may be even worse, she's opening every drawer, every closet door, because she thinks he lied about not having any of Nina's things and she needs to know? He's on the verge of turning around and walking back into the bedroom to tell her again how much he loves her, how he never loved anyone else until he met her, and how he sure as shit had no intention of loving anyone after she was gone...and then suddenly there she is. She stands in the doorway, leaning against the wall, her hair in a ponytail, her legs bare, pale, and so damn _long_ , and the smile she gives him chases all of his earlier thoughts from his head in an instant. No woman who is about to hand an engagement ring back and run from the building looks at a man the way she's looking at him, and he knows she'd never run in just a t-shirt and day old panties.

"Do you always look quite so worried when you're waiting for the coffee to brew?" she asks, walking into the kitchen and over to him, her hand coming to rest on his back, squarely between his shoulder blades. "If the answer is yes, maybe it's time for a new machine."

"I was just thinking, about my fiancée," he says, taking a second to enjoy the sweet sound of the word on his tongue. " _You_ , I was thinking about you."

"Not sure the clarification is necessary, I'm well aware of who your fiancée is," she says, running her hand down his back and moving beside him, looking up at him with a sweet smile. "She's the one wearing the giant diamond, no make-up, and yesterday's knickers. She's really quite the catch."

"Oh, she is, she definitely is." He returns her smile and reaches for a mug, pouring a coffee and sliding it towards her. "Interesting t-shirt choice, by the way."

"I can't believe you still have it." She glances down at the shirt and then grins at him.

"You don't have yours?" he asks, remembering how excited she was when he eventually agreed to run the marathon with her, excited enough to have matching t-shirts made for them both.

"Of course I do, I fucking love these t-shirts." She pauses and takes a sip of her coffee, reminding him again of how she can drink coffee at almost boiling point when she really wants it. "In really tough moments, of which there have been many this year, I sometimes think about throwing in the news producing towel and spending my days coming up with snappy t-shirt designs instead. I think I missed my calling. My genius is evident right here."

"Except everyone thought we worked at McDonald's," he says, looking at the t-shirt again, the silhouette of their faces and the McRun! slogan underneath.

"People have no imagination, that's why." She shrugs and picks up her mug. "God, I really need to sit before I lose all feeling in my toes, your floor is freezing."

"It's October and you have nothing on your feet, most floors would feel freezing." He pours himself a coffee and heads out towards the living room, his free hand taking hers and leading her with him.

"I should check my phone," she says, setting her coffee down on the table and crossing the room to pull her phone from her bag. He watches her, the t-shirt again making him smile and the sight of her long legs and toned ass when she bends down sending a jolt of something else down to the pit of his stomach. "I mean, I doubt the world has imploded in the last twelve hours, but still..."

"I feel like if the world had imploded and neither one of us was picking up the phone, someone would be banging on the door by now," he says, settling back on the couch as she walks back over and sits next to him, tucking her legs up under her, leaning against him, one hand on his thigh as the other starts to scroll through her phone. She frowns and he really, _really_ hopes that this isn't the Saturday that something major has broken. He loves his job, but this isn't the morning he wants them to have to run into the newsroom. "What?"

"No, nothing." She shakes her head and grins at him. "Well, not news, anyway, just Sloan. Miss Sabbith is a little curious about our evening."

"Oh God..." He groans slightly, thinking of the inevitable questions Sloan will have, although selfishly he hopes she'll direct most of them at Mackenzie.

"I have about a million texts from her, starting with 'Hey, how was dinner? A little bird told me there was hand holding. SPILL!' up to the last one, ten minutes ago, 'I'm going to assume from your silence that it was a) the worst evening ever and you're home crying and refusing all human interaction b) it was such a good evening that you're filled with glee and you're up and out early skipping through fields or some such shit, or c) YOU WENT HOME WITH WILL. Goddammit Kenzie, answer your fucking phone!'" She holds the phone up and he can see the screen is full of Sloan's long, demanding messages, and he can almost feel the burning curiosity through the phone. "I think she's onto us, Billy."

"Well, and not that I'm complaining, you understand, you did drag me through the newsroom by the hand in full view of God knows how many of our staff," he says, smiling as he thinks of it, the grin on her face, her hand in his, the shock on the faces of their team. "Pretty sure the whole team will be onto us by now."

"Should I be really cruel and make her wait?" she asks, a twinkle in her eyes that makes him grin even as he knows she's not actually cruel enough to torture Sloan, not to mention he knows she's dying to tell her their news.

"I'd vote yes but I know you won't." He smirks and reaches for the phone. "How about I text her back and say you can't possibly talk about it now and you'll talk to her at work on Monday?"

"You do that and I guarantee the phone will ring about three seconds later," she says, taking the phone back off him and starting to type. "Alright, here goes..."

He reaches for his coffee and takes a gulp as he watches her typing, a small frown on her face which he knows is due to her having to squint to see the screen without her glasses. She bites her lip and he smiles, wondering not for the first time if she's really aware of just how often she does that, and how stupidly fucking appealing it is. This is one of the things he missed, sitting with her on a Saturday morning, drinking coffee, just being with her. He never wanted that with anyone else, he was always itching for them to leave, it was one of the many reasons he knew things would never work with Nina, no matter how much he tried to force it. She would make coffee, she would curl up against him and he would freeze. Oh he'd go through the motions, play the game, but he would only really relax when she eventually stepped away. He feels bad for that, he knows he treated her badly, but hell, not as badly as he treated Mackenzie. Nina knew damn well what she was getting into from the start, she knew she was pursuing a man clearly in love with another woman, surely she had to know that wouldn't end well.

"Done." Mackenzie's voice breaks into his thoughts and she puts the phone down between them and reaches for her coffee. "I give it...thirty seconds at most."

He picks up the phone and she nods for him to look. Opening the message, he grins at what he sees. 'I'm neither crying nor skipping through fields. What I am doing is drinking coffee with my fiancé. I believe you know him...tall guy, blonde, incredibly sexy, anchors our flagship show? So, in answer to your question, yes, I WENT HOME WITH WILL. I hope your evening was even half as amazing as mine.' Putting the phone back down, he shakes his head, knowing she's right, Sloan will be flipping her shit any second now, and he's taken barely one more mouthful of coffee before the inevitable call comes.

"Hey, Sloan, I'm going to put you on speaker." She answers and hits speaker, setting the phone back down between them, grinning at him.

"Fiancé? You're engaged?! Yesterday you were all 'oh, it's just dinner with my friend Will, that's all' and now you're _engaged_? Holy shit, I can't believe he finally saw sense!" Sloan's voice is filled with the excitement he hoped it would be and it feels good to know she's happy for them. "I know you're there too, McAvoy, so I'm just going to say congratulations and it's about damn time. Your wife-to-be can fill me in on last night's details when you're not sitting right next to her. Right, Kenz?"

"There's going to be a limit to what I'll share, but buy me a couple of martinis and you may be able squeeze some details out of me," Mackenzie answers, rolling her eyes slightly and flashing him a quick smile. "Is that good enough for you?"

"Not even close, but I'll take it," Sloan says, following her words with a dramatic sigh. "To be clear, by details I mean the good stuff, not wedding dresses, apartments, babies, you know, I want-"

"Sloan." Mackenzie stops her, picking up the phone, her thumb hovering over the red button. "I'm-"

"You're hanging up, I know." He can hear the smirk in Sloan's voice and he shakes his head as he looks at Mackenzie. "Congratulations, both of you, I'm happy for you, _really_ happy for you. I'll talk to you later."

Mackenzie ends the call and leans forward to slide the phone onto the table. As he opens his mouth to comment on Sloan's demands, she surprises him by climbing into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck, her hands tickling his hairline, her eyes locked onto his.

"I'm sorry about the t-shirt thing," she says, looking sheepish, biting her lip faintly before she goes on. "You know, the Nina thing. I'm sorry about the Nina thing."

"Not as sorry as _I_ am about the Nina thing." He moves his hands to rest on her waist, wishing more than ever he could erase the entire Nina debacle, but knowing all he can do is make sure she knows he regrets it. "Should we talk?"

"Now?" She frowns and takes a breath, scratching her nails lightly down the back of his neck.

"Now, tonight, tomorrow..." He doesn't want to push her, but they do need to talk and he could be wrong but it feels like she's ready. "It doesn't have to be now, and no matter what, this is it, honey. You, me, us, it's forever. You do believe that, don't you?"

"I do," she says, smiling, nodding. "I do. Alright...here we have it. I love you, I've loved you for a long time, and I genuinely thought I'd blown it forever, so, well, relieved doesn't even begin to cover how I feel right now. Happy, obviously, too, really fucking happy."

"I'm relieved too," he says, lifting a hand and slowly pulling her ponytail out of its band, pushing his fingers into her hair and watching as she smiles a little wider. "I'm relieved I came to my senses before it was too late. And in case I didn't mention it, I've loved you since the day I met you, and I never stopped, not for a fucking second."

"I think _you_ may have mentioned it. Okay, where was I?" She sighs and moves her hands out of his hair down to rest on his shoulders. "I love you, we covered that. What else...oh yeah, I want to get married in June, I've always wanted to get married in June, I know my freaking out about Nina is irrational and I'll try to get better about it, I promise. I also know you didn't buy the ring when we were first together and it's okay, it doesn't really matter now, it's beautiful, I love it. Oh, and I think you should stay at my place tonight so we can decide where we feel more comfortable, because if I move in here, you're really going to need to think about getting carpet or my feet won't survive."

"I live in lower Manhattan not Siberia, but God forbid we put your feet at risk." He smiles at her, remembering the night he slipped a pair of socks onto her feet and she told him for the first time that she loved him. "That was quite a list...okay, June is fine, whenever you want is fine. I'm sorry about the ring, I didn't mean...I don't know what I was thinking but I do know it was always intended to be yours, it was never coming out of my drawer for anyone else, so if that in any way helps with the whole Nina thing then good, but if not then feel free to be as irrational as you need to be, it's fine. Oh, and I didn't think we'd live at your place or here, I thought we'd buy a place, somewhere new, somewhere we chose together, that's ours. Unless you don't want to, we can-"

"No, I do, Billy. I do," she says, settling back slightly onto his thighs, her smile returning, her face relaxed. "I'd love that."

"And we can put carpet in as many rooms as your feet need," he says, leaning forward and kissing her, noticing the brightness in her eyes when he pulls back. "There...we talked."

"We did." She agrees, nodding and running her thumbs gently across his skin. "I want us to always talk, I want us to be honest and not hide anything, or nothing important anyway. We can do that, right?"

"Absolutely." He nods and smiles again. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

"I need to know one more thing, I need..." She falters, her smile slipping as she swallows hard. "I need to know that you trust me."

"With my life, Mackenzie. No question," he answers without a beat of hesitation, without the need to think for even a split second. He watches as she nods, worry lifting from her face as his words sink in.

"You're taking me for lunch?" she asks, a hint of mischief in her eyes that he likes, that piques his curiosity.

"Yep," he says. "Once we've been to your place and found you some lunch appropriate clothing, of course."

"Of course." She climbs out of his lap and stands up, reaching for his hand. "Not that I don't love this t-shirt, as we've established."

"Wait, we're leaving now?" He glances up at the clock as he stands and raises an eyebrow. "At nine-thirty?"

"Oh no," she says, sliding her fingers firmly into his and stepping close enough to press herself against him. "Right now we're going back to bed and you're going to do to me what you did last night all over again. Unless you want to talk some more, of course, if there's something that can't wait..."

"Honey, even if this room was on fire right now, I'd shut the door and it could wait." He leans down and kisses her, sliding his hand under her t-shirt, feeling her smile against his lips before she pulls back.

"Good." She tugs on his hand and turns towards the door. "Because as much as a fire would warm my feet up, I'd much rather _you_ do it."

"I'm your human furnace for as long as you want me," he says, stopping when they reach the bedroom and she drops his hand, watching her as she pulls the t-shirt over her head and lets it slip to the floor.

"Forever," she murmurs, pulling him to her and kissing him, a hard kiss filled with promise, a kiss that makes his toes curl. "I want you forever."

"Oh, that's a done deal already. I'm yours." He peels his own t-shirt off and groans as she pushes his shorts down, her touch on his skin almost enough to get him hard before she's even taken her panties off. "I'm all yours."


End file.
